Marianna kept as utterly still as the tiny brown lizard sunning itself on the warm rock beside her. Hidden by a clump of prickly pear, she watched Jacinto striding down the narrow path with a large funnel-shaped basket on his shoulders, filled with bananas, she guessed, or some early custard apples.
He had been avoiding her, that was painfully clear. She had been back at the quinta for more than a day now and had spent most of her time on the lookout for Jacinto. But in vain. This was her very first chance of waylaying him for a talk, and she did not intend to reveal her presence too soon and give him any opportunity to escape. Marianna waited until he was less than twenty paces away before stepping out from concealment. Jacinto halted and seemed about to turn and retreat. Then, with an air of sturdy indifference, he continued down the path.
‘Hallo, Jacinto.’ Her palms felt suddenly damp and she wiped them on the skirt of her blue dress.
‘Hallo.’ It was hardly more than a grunt. He would have walked right past her, Marianna thought, had she not been blocking the narrow path.
‘I wanted to see you before I leave Madeira,’ she said. ‘To say goodbye.’
Jacinto did not speak for a moment, his dark eyes searching her face with sullen intensity. Then he burst out, ‘Why are you doing this?’
Marianna gave a casual lift of her shoulders. ‘Doing what?’
‘You know what! Marrying that man.’
‘Why should I not, pray? And you have no right to refer to Mr Penfold as “that man”. It’s disrespectful.’
‘Oh, I beg your gracious pardon, Dona Marianna. I should have said His Excellency the Great and Noble English senhor. There, does that satisfy you?’
‘Now you’re being silly. But it’s no business of yours, Jacinto, whom I decide to marry.’
‘Then kindly let me pass. Unlike you, I have much work to do. I’ve been in trouble enough with my father for neglecting my tasks because of you.’
‘Because of yourself, you mean,’ flashed Marianna, staying right where she was. ‘You and your boring lessons.’
Jacinto opened his mouth for an equally rude retort, but choked back the words. After a moment, he said, ‘That Senhor Penfold is too old for you, Marianna. And besides, you are too young to wed at all.’
‘I shall be sixteen on my wedding day. Your sister will be much younger than that when she gets married.’
‘You are not Amalia. You are different.’
‘Oh? How am I different?’
Jacinto lowered the heavy basket to the ground, the muscles of his bronzed forearms bunching with the effort. He picked out one of the custard apples that had a brown patch on its scaly skin and hurled it savagely far out into the abyss.
‘Amalia is already grown into a woman,’ he muttered.
‘And am I not?’
He did not look at Marianna as he asked, ‘Do you feel that you are?’
It was a question she had been putting to herself these past days since her betrothal, and still she had not found the answer.
‘Mr Penfold must think I am,’ she said, ‘or he would not have asked me to be his wife.’ A reckless impulse prompted her to add, ‘The trouble with you is that you’re jealous.’
‘Jealous?’ he echoed scornfully. ‘Why should I be jealous?’
‘You cannot endure knowing that I am to be married, that’s why.’
Jacinto threw back his head and gave a loud, mirthless laugh.
‘Oh yes, I am jealous because I expected to win you for myself, I suppose. How happy the fidalgo would be! He would think in his head, my feitor’s son will make a fine husband for my only daughter. He would say to me, “Marry her, good Jacinto, and I will buy you elegant clothes, and Marianna shall teach you how to behave like a grand gentleman, and you can take your place in my household as my much-esteemed son-in-law.” Or do you think that the fidalgo would rather you came to live with me in a peasant’s hut as one of his feitor’s large family? Oh yes, Marianna, that is a likely thing, I must say. A very likely thing.’
She was shocked by the bitterness of his outburst, even more shocked to see a glint of tears in his dark eyes as he bent to retrieve the laden basket. Never before had she seen the proud Jacinto near to crying. She longed to say something to bring him comfort, to find the right words to express her affection for him and restore the closeness between them. But she felt helpless, inadequate and on the verge of tears herself.
‘Please, Jacinto,’ she beseeched him, ‘can’t we say goodbye properly? Won’t you wish me well?’
‘What do you care whether I wish you well or tell you to be off to St Peter?’
‘But I do care! It matters to me very much.’
‘You have had your father’s blessing, isn’t that enough? You will have to make do without mine.’
He strode off briskly with the weighty basket on his shoulder, and a turn in the path soon took him from Marianna’s view behind a rock. The drowsy hush of afternoon returned. There was the soft droning of bees seeking nectar among the wild flowers that flanked the path; from a terrace farther down the hillside came the steady chop-chop of an enchada as a man hoed his vegetables, and far below in the valley she could hear the laughter and chatter of village women as they washed their clothes in the ribeiro. Feeling desolate and suddenly without purpose, she let herself sink down on to a sun-warmed boulder and laid her head on her folded arms.
In all the busy whirl of wedding preparations, Marianna had begged her father to let her return to the quinta for a few days before she left Madeira to go and live in England. With Mr Penfold continuing on to the Brazils in the SS Apollo and not due back for a fortnight, there was surely no reason why not, she had argued persuasively. She wanted a last chance to see the countryside she loved so dearly, to bid farewell to the people she had known all her life. But Marianna’s real reason was that she wanted to see Jacinto and make her peace with him. She had pictured a tender parting scene between them. She meant to advise him, most earnestly, to continue with his studies so far as it was possible — to take every opportunity to improve himself. And Jacinto would tell her sadly that he would never forget her, however long he lived — the girl who had befriended him and set him on the road to a better life.
The reality, though, had been so horribly different.
A thought sprang unbidden into her mind. I hate Jacinto Teixeiro ...I hate him, I hate him. I’m vastly thankful that I’ll be leaving this valley tomorrow and need never set eyes on him again.
Abruptly, Marianna jumped up from her seat on the stone boulder. Petticoats flying, she ran like a mountain hare along the narrow rocky path, all the way back to the quinta.
* * * *
From her chair by an upstairs window, Linguareira saw her coming, running as if demented. So she’d seen the lad, and the parting hadn’t been happy! They’d quarrelled, more than likely, the poor menina not realizing that she was halfway to being in love with him. And Jacinto ... what were his feelings? As an intelligent young fellow he would understand — thank the Blessed Virgin! — that the fidalgo’s daughter was not for the likes of him. Otherwise, she would long ago have put a stop to them meeting, never mind how much the menina threw tantrums about it.
Senhor Dalby had not cared about his daughter teaching a peasant lad his letters, chuckling that you never knew when an educated tenant might come in useful. But the fidalgo didn’t understand the half of it. He was far too wrapped up in himself and his own affairs to keep an eye on the menina and make sure the arrangement didn’t lead to any trouble. He surely couldn’t have guessed how close the two young people would become? Every single blessed day it had been, this summer, with Jacinto stealing time when he should have been busy about his tasks.
Ah well, it was a problem that had solved itself now, with the menina to be married.
Married — that poor child! It didn’t bear thinking about. What sort of bargain had been struck, wondered Linguareira, with a rush of anger. Far from paying out any dowry, how much money was the fidalgo to receive in exchange for his young daughter’s hand? The master had been far gone on the road to ruination, everybody knew that. At present, all the gentlemen engaged in the wine trade — English and Portuguese alike — were suffering because of this dreadful pest that was destroying the vines. But none more so than Senhor Dom James Dalby! It was common knowledge that he was up to his nostrils in debt. He had already sold off most of the wines in his soleras for gold in his pocket, giving no thought to conserving stocks like most of the other wine shippers, so he was near upon finished and done for. The small quantity of wine the senhor hadn’t parted with was fast disappearing down his own gullet, in an effort to drown his sorrows.
Had the poor menina any suspicion that the papa she loved so uncritically was selling her? For wasn’t that the plain, brutal truth of the matter? Little Marianna had caught the fancy of his old amigo, that English shipowner, and the two men had come to a bargain. It was a thought to make one’s stomach retch. But alas, what else was there for the child? She could never be expected to earn her own living, not a young lady of gentle birth. For Miss Marianna Dalby, marriage was the only possible future, and the way things were going for her papa these days, the sooner she was wed the better. At least as wife to a rich man, she would never face poverty and hunger. Linguareira could only hope and pray that the menina wouldn’t have to face more than her fair share of heartache and sorrow in other ways. For heartache and sorrow were a woman’s lot in this world, she knew that well enough. It was said that the Good Lord in his wisdom had arranged it thus, the belter to prepare women for their heavenly reward.
And now the task had befallen her of instructing the poor menina in those matters she’d been carefully shielded from knowing about whilst her good mother was alive. Senhora Dona Grace had always been most insistent that her young daughter’s mind was to be kept pure, as she’d put it, with the result that the child’s natural curiosity had been left unsatisfied, all her questions left unanswered. Even after Senhora Dalby’s death, Linguareira had not liked to take it upon herself to act differently, though it had been an anxious time when the menina had started her monthly flows. Luckily she’d not been unduly alarmed, accepting the explanation that it was all a part of growing up. The little menina was a strange mixture, Linguareira reflected, candid and truthful mostly — yet sometimes so withdrawn that you never knew quite what was going on in the child’s head.
‘Since Miss Marianna has no mother, it’s up to you to see that she knows what’s what,’ the master had ordered Linguareira the other day. ‘Understand?’
Oh yes, she knew what he meant well enough. She had to prepare the child for what to expect from a husband who’d seen more than fifty summers. A man who had probably been whoring for twice as many years as the little menina had been alive on this earth. A man who had buried one wife, the mother of his son and daughter, and now lusted for an innocent child as his bride. Ah well, so be it!
As Marianna burst into the room, Linguareira heaved her bulk out of the chair and fell into her habitual sharp-tongued grumbling.
‘So here you are then, miss, and me wondering where you’d got to. A fine way to behave, I must say, running off without so much as a word.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Never mind about being sorry.’ And then, with determination, ‘I want to talk to you, menina.’
‘Oh? What about?’
“About getting wed.’
Marianna sighed. ‘I thought all the arrangements had been made about that.’
‘I don’t mean the wedding itself, child. Here, come and sit down with me. There are things I must tell you.’ Holy Mother of God, where did one begin? It was all so unnatural, a girl of this age knowing far less, than she herself had known at the age of seven or eight. But then, from what Linguareira had heard, all gentlefolk seemed to have such strange ideas about matters like this. Having no experience in finesse, she made a bold and blunt approach. ‘I want to talk to you about how babies get started.’
A faint flush bloomed on Marianna’s cheeks. ‘But I already know about that.’
‘My, you’re a sly one!’ Linguareira’s surprise was quickly followed by an alarming thought. ‘Who’s been telling you I’d like to know. Not that Clever One?’
The flush deepened swiftly. ‘Of course not! As if I’d ever talk to Jacinto about such a thing.’
‘Who, then?’
Embarrassed, Marianna ran a finger along the curved arm of her chair. ‘The girls at school whisper about it sometimes,’ she mumbled. ‘But I don’t really listen. I’m not particularly interested. After all, there’s not much difference from what the animals do, is there?’
Ai, the child was not so very mistaken there! Linguareira spoke firmly. ‘Whether or not you are interested, menina, now that you’re to be married you must be prepared. For it to happen to you, I mean.’
Marianna kept her head lowered. ‘I know that,’ she said huskily. ‘But it will be wonderful to have children, won’t it? Worth all the unpleasantness and the pain.’ She broke off and added apologetically, ‘I know it wasn’t worth it for you, though.’
‘That’s all over and forgot long ago!’ Forgot? The tiny, perfectly-formed child who was born too weak to live beyond three days and nights; and Pedro, so handsome and well-set, who had deserted her because of it. Linguareira added heavily, ‘Anyways, it gave me the milk to suckle you, menina., or where would you be now?’
Impulsively, Marianna jumped up and planted a kiss on the flaccid cheek. ‘Dear Linguareira, I shall miss you quite dreadfully when I go to England. I do wish Mr Penfold would let me take you with me.’
‘You mustn’t fret about that, little one. I daresay I wouldn’t fit in among all those smart servants they have in England.’
Marianna was looking thoughtful. ‘I might ask him just once more,’ she said. ‘It will be almost our wedding day when he returns, so maybe he’ll grant me my every wish. Bridegrooms do that sometimes, you know.’
‘No, menina, you’d best not ask any favours on my account.’ Linguareira had immediately sensed the English senhor’s hostility to her, and guessed that no pleas of Marianna’s would move him. ‘I expect you’ll manage well enough without me. Just you remember to be a good and dutiful wife to your husband and perhaps he’ll not demand too much of you.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he won’t. Mr Penfold is a very kind man.’
‘Kindness doesn’t come into it, child, not when a man’s blood runs hot and he wants his way with a woman’s body.’
Marianna’s young face screwed up in puzzlement. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You told me you did … about the animals.’
‘Oh, that! Well, married people have to sometimes so that they can have babies.’
‘Do you imagine my Pedro and me were wanting a little one, and us not wed at all?’
‘I suppose not.’ There was a small silence, then Marianna looked at her with her candid blue eyes. ‘Then why did you?’
‘Because it’s in the nature of men, that’s why. It’s what they always want from a woman, and women try to please them. Like you will have to try and please the man you’re going to marry.’
Marianna shook her head. ‘I’m sure Mr Penfold isn’t like that,’ she said decidedly.
Linguareira sighed. ‘All the men are like that, menina, make no mistake about it. Just so long as you’re prepared in your mind for whatever’s to come. Always remember that he’ll be your wedded husband, and that it’s your duty to please him in every way he expects.’
* * * *
After their supper of chicken stewed with rice, followed by an arrowroot mould and a dish of guava jelly, Linguareira put her feet up on a stool and settled with a sigh of content to her crochet work, while Marianna wandered out to the veranda. Through the fuchsia hedge that edged the garden, she could see a dim light in the windows of the feitor’s cottage, where Jacinto and his family would also have finished eating by now. A much simpler meal, she knew, probably just a vegetable or fish soup with rough bread. Meat was a luxury for them.
It was a beautiful evening, drenched with fragrance. Moonlight shone fitfully through mottled clouds, silvering the garden and the surrounding mountains with its cool, mysterious radiance. Daytime’s bright hues were transformed to soft greys and misty browns, with the white streaks of the waterfalls shimmering palely. The air was warm and soft on Marianna’s bare arms, yet she could not prevent herself from, shivering. Fear? Apprehension? But what had she to fear? Nothing, nothing in the world.
From the shadows of the hibiscus bushes she heard a low whistle that at first she took to be an owl, then a rustling sound was followed by a smothered giggle. Two figures emerged into the moonlight and locked themselves in a lovers’ embrace. Jacinto kissing that wretched girl, Tereza!
Marianna felt sickened, yet fascinated too, and she could not bring herself to look away. She heard the girl’s soft laughter again as she broke free and began to run along the path towards the magnolia tree; but Jacinto caught her easily, pulling her into his arms and kissing her once more.
At last, choked by the misery of watching them, Marianna turned away and fled into the house. Not stopping to pick up a candle, she ran upstairs guided only by the reflected glimmer of moonlight, and along the corridor to her room, where she flung herself down on the bed. It was disgusting! Fancy Jacinto behaving like that when he didn’t even like the girl very much. Not, of course, that she herself cared what Jacinto did. She hated him, didn’t she?
Fingers clutching the embroidered counterpane, Marianna recalled the morning when Jacinto had bandaged her grazed knee ... his touch very gentle as he knotted her handkerchief, and the strange, tingling feel of his fingertips brushing down the skin of her calf. And she remembered once more the sweet pressure of his lips on hers — those same lips that were now kissing that horrible girl!
An idea flickered in Marianna’s mind. Sitting up abruptly, she glanced about the moonlit room for inspiration. Yes, that was it! She jumped off the bed and crossed to the dressing-table, her fingers fumbling for the ivory and tortoise-shell box which contained her few pieces of jewellery. Heart pounding, she lifted the lid and felt around for a little gold locket set with garnets and pearls. It was the one item of her mother’s precious belongings that her father had already given her, the rest having been put safely away until she was old enough to wear them.
The locket lay in her palm, the garnets winking redly. It felt curiously cold against her skin. Shaking out a lace-edged handkerchief, she quickly wrapped the locket and ran to the door, opening it and peering outside. The dark corridor was deserted. On swift and silent feet she ran past the stairhead, then turned along a lesser corridor to the rear wing of the quinta where the servants had their quarters. Marianna knew where each one of them slept, and in a moment she had reached a room containing three low truckle beds. With the one small window letting in only a thin slant of moonlight, she had to feel her way across to the bed set furthest from the door. She lifted the straw palliasse and laid the locket beneath it, then quickly dropped the mattress back into place and straightened the cover.
Stepping out into the corridor again, Marianna heard a door open somewhere below and the sound of a guitarra floated up the back stairs. There was a sudden burst of laughter. In an agony of fear that her presence might be discovered, she raced back to her own room and arrived there breathless and panting, her heart thudding against her ribs. But within moments she was sufficiently in control to light a candle, to smooth her frock and tidy herself before the cheval glass. Her eyes were overbright and her cheeks flushed — but there would be a satisfactory enough explanation for that.
Before she could change her mind, before she was attacked by qualms of conscience, she picked up the china candlestick and hurried down to find Linguareira, to report that one of the servants had stolen her mother’s locket and that the whole house must be searched.
* * * *
The knowledge that Tereza had been sent home to her parents in disgrace, pending the fidalgo’s decision about her, failed to bring Marianna the satisfaction she had expected. Instead, as she and Linguareira set off for Funchal next day, Nuno trotting behind the horses as usual, she felt a gnawing sense of remorse.
The servants were assembled on the veranda to bid their young mistress farewell. Along the route, women emerged from their cottages to bob her a curtsey as she went riding past, and men at work on the terraces paused to sweep off their pointed carapucas in a low bow. But Marianna was painfully conscious that the peasants’ usual cheerfulness was lacking; there was a certain coolness in their good wishes. Though they did not presume to condemn her for Tereza’s banishment, it was casting a shadow over the day.
Jacinto’s parents, Eduardo and Rosaria Teixeiro, had come to see her off. In the traditional obeisance, the feitor and his wife each bent to embrace her knees until Marianna gave the signal to rise again by pressing a hand to their backs. Jacinto’s mother murmured softly, ‘May the Good Lord bless you, minha menina, and grant you many strong children.’
Of Jacinto himself there was no sign whatever. Marianna clung to the hope of seeing him until long after they had left the valley and were well on their way, but at last she had to acknowledge the fact that Jacinto was letting her depart without a final goodbye. Did he suspect what she had done to incriminate Tereza, she wondered wretchedly. And if so, did he now hate and despise her for it?
Before they reached Funchal, Marianna came to a decision that was a moderate sop to her conscience. She would make a special appeal to her father, implore him to show the utmost clemency towards the girl Tereza, as a gesture to celebrate her wedding. More than that she could not bring herself to do, dared not do. To confess her shameful secret was quite unthinkable.
The SS Apollo bringing her bridegroom was due to arrive within the next twelve hours or so, depending on the weather at sea, and the nuptials were planned for the following day at noon. Fortunately, Mr Penfold had put arrangements in hand for the reception to be held at the British Consulate. The house in Rua das Murças in its present neglected state could never have been made ready to receive the guests, nor could a suitable repast have been provided. Nevertheless, a wedding was an excuse for revelry and a general air of merriment prevailed among the servants; all the morning Marianna had heard Linguareira loudly berating them for a lot of lazy, drunken, good-for-nothings. At which, she knew, they would laugh behind their hands and mimic her with cruel accuracy the moment her back was turned.
After a good, solid luncheon of pork and walnut pudding, Linguareira settled in her favourite basket chair, gave a heavy sigh of relief and promptly fell asleep. Soon she was snoring steadily. Almost as if he had been waiting for this signal, Codface sidled into the small parlour and beckoned to Marianna.
‘You’ve got a visitor,’ he told her in a hoarse whisper.
‘A visitor? Who is it?’
‘You’ll find out who it is, little menina.’
Wondering, she followed the man as he lurched down the stairs to the gloomy, cavernous kitchen. There, with the servants crowded round him in a circle, giggling and taunting him, stood Jacinto.
‘Here is Clever One come to see you, menina. Your pupil wants to bid his teacher farewell.’
Marianna felt a great leap of joy at seeing him, but Jacinto’s bony face was set in a hard expression. He looked as if he wished himself anywhere but there.
‘What is it?’ she asked, crossing to him swiftly. ‘Is something wrong, Jacinto?’
He shook his head, his lower lip caught between his teeth. ‘I carried down the vegetables and fruit today. I begged Pai to let me be the one to bring them, so that I could see you.’
‘You’d better come outside,’ she said, after a moment’s hesitation.
She led the way down to the courtyard, then turned through a dim archway into the wine lodge. There was nowhere in the house itself where she could properly take Jacinto, but surely they could find a quiet corner here where they could talk undisturbed for a few minutes? Her father, Marianna knew, would be safely out of the way. After a brief appearance at his office each morning it was his custom to adjourn to the rooms of the Commercial Association to meet his friends, and he was not usually seen again until late in the afternoon. She took Jacinto across one of the great vaulted chambers, through another arch, and down between two lines of wine butts stacked in tiers — alas mostly empty now. The few workmen in their long white blouses moved around silently, hardly sparing them a glance.
Marianna halted by an open doorway that gave access to a small patch of garden with a bright sprawling mass of geraniums and a lemon tree growing in the centre. Turning to face Jacinto, she saw a look of sadness in his dark eyes which touched her heart,
‘You came to say goodbye to me, after all?’ she said softly.
Jacinto nodded, then glanced away and stared down at the stone floor. His hand went nervously to the arrow-shaped scar on his right temple. He was wearing his goatskin boots, Marianna noticed, and his white cotton trousers and shirt were clean and neatly patched — not the ragged ones he habitually wore for his daily work around the fazenda.
From out of his pocket he took something which he thrust clumsily into Marianna’s hand. It was a small wooden spoon that he had whittled from orange wood, the bowl smoothly shaped and the handle having an intricate design of vine
‘It’s beautiful!’ she exclaimed delightedly. ‘Thank you, Jacinto.’
Still not looking up, he mumbled, ‘I said hurtful things before you left the quinta, and I wish now to show you that I am very sorry. I wish now to say many thank-yous for all your goodness, Marianna. You have always been most kind to me, most generous.’
These were the tender, heartfelt words of gratitude that she had been hoping to hear at their parting. Suddenly, though, she could not bear to see him so humble before her.
‘I have enjoyed being your friend,’ she said. ‘Truly I have, Jacinto. It made me very sad the other day when we quarrelled. But now I am happy again.’
‘Happy?’ His head came up and his glance rested on her accusingly. ‘You are happy to be marrying that English senhor?
‘Of course I am!’ Marianna waited as a workman shuffled past them through the doorway, bearing on his shoulder a large copper jar of wine. When he was safely out of earshot, she demanded, ‘Why should I not be happy? Married to Mr Penfold, I shall have everything I could possibly wish for.’
‘Oh yes! A big fine house, I expect, and costly clothes and jewels, and all the other good things that much money can buy.’
‘Also,’ she added, ‘a husband whom I shall honour and esteem.’
‘You do not speak of loving this husband,’ he retorted swiftly.
‘That is hardly a subject I can discuss with you.’
‘You mean that I should remember I am just a peasant?’
‘No, not that…’
They stood looking at one another, both very still and tense; then, hesitantly, Jacinto reached out and touched her on the hand. ‘Marianna ...’
She jerked away from him, taking a quick step backwards, and anger flared in his face. ‘So! You think that a low creature like me is unfit even to touch the hand of Miss Marianna Dalby?’
‘You’re wrong, it isn’t that at all,’ she stammered. ‘Truly, I…I…’
‘Then let us say goodbye as friends, Marianna.’
‘Isn’t… isn’t that what we are doing?’
Jacinto did not answer, but his glance held a challenge. Marianna recognized a burning need in him to kiss her. And there was the same need in herself, too, a longing to feel again the intimacy of his lips pressed to hers, a longing to be awakened once more to that strange, exciting awareness of her body. The very strength of her surging emotions was terrifying and she knew that she must fight — fight herself as well as Jacinto — with all the strength she possessed. As he drew her into his arms and she felt his lean warmth against her, Marianna had a dizzy sensation of floating, of falling. As if she were falling through soft clouds, gently and sweetly ...
“No, you mustn’t!’ she cried, dredging up every grain of willpower to thrust herself back from him.
Jacinto’s dark eyes flickered. ‘There is no danger. Nobody is here to see us.’
‘What difference does that make? I am betrothed to another man, and it would be wrong ... wickedly wrong.’
‘You have not said that you do not want me to kiss you,’ he pointed out with relentless logic.
‘I don’t need to say it. Naturally I do not want you to kiss me. It is a dreadful liberty — assuming that just because I have shown you friendship, you can ... you can give me kisses as if I were a common girl like Tereza.’
The straining leash on Jacinto’s temper broke and his voice stabbed her. ‘So speaks the great and noble young mistress to a humble peasant. Well, this one is not so humble, as you will discover. One day, my fine lady, I shall show you!’
‘Please, Jacinto … please don’t spoil everything. I’m very fond of you, I always have been, you must know that. And now — I wish you all that is good in the future, truly I do, I hope that you will achieve your aim in bettering yourself.’
‘How kind is the fidalgo’s daughter, how gracious. I do not need your good wishes, Marianna, I can manage without them. I am sorry now that I bothered to come all this way to see you.’
‘But I am glad you came,’ she said in a husky whisper. ‘And I shall always treasure your parting gift.’
In a sudden darting movement Jacinto’s hand shot out and snatched the carved spoon he had given her. Snapping the handle in two, he flung the pieces to the floor and ground them savagely beneath his boot.
‘You have no gift from me,’ he spat out. ‘I take my gift back.’
As he turned to walk off, Marianna caught at his sleeve beseechingly. ‘Jacinto, don’t leave like this. I can’t bear it. Won’t you wish me well?’
The look of contempt in his eyes made her fingers slacken their grip.
‘Why should I? You have your rich Englishman now — isn’t that enough for you?’
‘Don’t be so cruel to me,’ she implored him. ‘Must we part like enemies? Give me a kind word, at least. Please, Jacinto...’
He seemed on the verge of softening. But then with a toss of his dark head he turned and strode away. Marianna watched him depart, threading his way between the oaken wine butts. She felt stricken, and had to conquer an urge to run after him. When he was quite gone from view, she sank to her knees and gathered up the two halves of the broken spoon. Jacinto’s savage crushing of the wood had released its fragrance and the scent of orange was very strong. A tear fell and splashed the back of her hand, and then another and another.
* * * *
The servant who had been posted since four o’clock down by the Custom House came running with the news that the Apollo had been sighted and would be dropping anchor within the hour. By then, Marianna had to be dressed and ready to greet her bridegroom.
‘For pity’s sake, hurry yourself,’ Linguareira chivvied her. ‘Where did you put those new shoes that were delivered yesterday? Am I expected to remember every tiny item?’ Then, with a quick flood of compassion, ‘Do not be unhappy, menina? I expect it will not be as bad as you fear.’
Marianna nodded distractedly. An idea which had been slowly forming in her mind seemed suddenly to fill it to the exclusion of all other matters.
‘Linguareira, there’s something I want you to do for me. Something very important.’
‘What is it, menina?
‘My books — my school books and story books, all of them. And pens and pencils, paper to write on. Collect up everything you can find and give it all to Jacinto.’
Linguareira shook her head. ‘He’ll never keep up with his learning, little one. Not once you are gone.’
‘He will, I know he will. That’s all Jacinto cares about, all he’s ever cared about.’ Marianna pressed her lips together hard to stop them trembling.
‘Your papa may not like it. He’ll not want the lad getting too big in the head.’
‘Then don’t tell papa.’ It amazed Marianna how calmly she could suggest such deceit. ‘I’m sure you could manage without papa knowing.’
‘Sim, perhaps I could.’
‘You must! You must promise me faithfully to see that Jacinto gets them.’
‘Very well then, if it matters to you so much.’ After hesitating a moment, Linguareira added, ‘You should forget about Jacinto Teixeiro now, menina. Your husband won’t want you thinking about the likes of that young lad.’
Marianna took careful command of her voice. ‘It just seems rather a shame to let all those things of mine go to waste when I know someone who could make use of them. Most likely, after this, I shall hardly ever give Jacinto another thought.’
Linguareira, busy searching for a mislaid chemise, made no reply and Marianna became afraid that she had overdone her indifference.
‘All the same,’ she went on in a breathless little rush, ‘it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about Jacinto. I do! So you’ve got to give me your sacred, solemn promise to see that he gets those books of mine.’
Linguareira turned to meet Marianna’s eyes and nodded slowly. ‘You have my promise, menina. I swear it by the Holy Mother of God.’